When the days become troublesome
and my heart is pricked by melancholy I find myself walking a tree lined lane. Great trees that watched over our betters and those which before us came. I have that within me and go there often where the air is cool inside my lungs and my beard makes small sounds upon my collar.
Gravel, damp with dew, quietens my footfalls and I walk slowly as to delay the sun and keep the dawn as long as she will stay. But the dawn is passing and the day’s trial is at hand. Hardships flood back into my mind. Then birds, warmed by the light, sing, and my repose maintained for their sake and I keep them in my mind until this day.
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